A.N.: My face-claim (at the moment) for Alarra is Alisha Nesvat - her eyebrows make her a distant relative of Maisie Williams!

Also, my Gendry is a combo of Henry Cavill (see The Tudors) and our lovely Joe Dempsie, so he's got that powerful Superman broad-shouldered, muscular Geralt build (I'm excited for The Witcher even though I've never played/read any of the books).

Oh, and Jon is a foot taller - a bit more of Tom Hiddleston's Loki physique, tall and lean and hungry, but powerful.

Bear with me on the timings. In my mind, the characters are a lot older. So it's been perhaps two or three years since Sam and Gilly met Bran etc. at the Night Fort and sent them through the Wall with dragonglass: When they meet again, it'll be closer to four, maybe five years. So, give or take, it's been perhaps seven years since the Starks left Winterfell? That puts Jon and Larra at about 23/24, Gendry about 21/22 (he's a 'similar' age to Robb and Jon, but he had to have been conceived after the Sack of King's Landing to put Robert in the city), Sansa at 19/20, Arya at 18/19 and Bran at 16/17.

I've also been watching a lot of Stark family/Song of Ice and Fire/Jonsa tribute videos on YouTube, and there'll definitely been an undercurrent of that in this story - because I think their chemistry is insane!

Also, because this is me, and because I should be working on my teaching qualifications instead, I've thought up my own characters to insert into the story - to make things more complicated for myself and to distract me from working…

Valyrian Steel

05

Two Blasts

The horn rang out, once…twice…

Everyone in Castle Black waited, filled with dread, for a third blast that never came.

Two blasts.

Wildlings.

Edd had fought at Hard Home, had survived it against all odds. He had been one among thousands of survivors, though thousands too few, to board Stannis Baratheon's ships and sail southwards. They had covered the frozen wastes of the North on foot to Castle Black, where Jon had left orders as Lord Commander to open the gates.

And in spite of his hatred of Jon, and even older hate of the wildings, Ser Alliser had opened the gate.

Thousands of wildlings had been allowed through the Wall, for the first time since Bran the Builder raised it. But the Night's Watch had been forced to leave thousands more wildlings to join the Night King's army.

He remembered what Sam had once said, that the Night's Watch vows meant they had a duty to protect the realms of Men, no matter which side of the Wall they were born. Their duty was to Men. The Night's Watch had not been forged from the Age of Heroes to police wildlings; they were the sword in the darkness - and the darkness was the coming storm. The Night King and his legions.

Edd would remember the dead rising on the shores of Hard Home until his last breath. The silence, after the screams… It haunted him still. How had any wildling survived the Night King's army, when he had tens of thousands of soldiers at his command - more - scouring the lands beyond the Wall?

Eddison Tollet, Acting Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, picked up a flaming torch and trudged through the tunnel to the gate. It had been reinforced, three-fold, since Grenn fell defending it from the last King of Giants. He wondered if they should have blocked the tunnel, as Jon had advised Ser Alliser so long ago…but it hardly mattered now. If the Night King wanted past the Wall, one way or another he would find a way to do it.

It was a strange thing, to realise they had kept the tunnel unblocked so that any last wildlings fleeing the army of the dead could get south beyond the Wall to safety. When he had arrived at Castle Black, so long ago, he'd thought he'd be training to kill wildlings. And he had fought them, and then fought beside them, and then fought to protect them, and realised the only difference between them was which side of the Wall they had grown up. He was the shield that guarded the realms of men, and they had all learned that a Night's Watchman's vows needed to be fluid: How could Jon unite the armies of the North from the Wall? He had reclaimed his home, and reunited the North under one banner, to protect the wildlings, and to prepare.

Jon needed him here. Jon needed to unite the Northern lords to fight the real enemy, but any force Jon could muster with his pretty, fire-kissed sister couldn't be caught unawares by the coming storm…

Ice exploded in small volleys as the chains rattled and groaned, protesting in the cold: His torch flickered violently as a gust of wind blew snowflakes in his eyes, biting his skin. He never got used to the cold, but it was almost gentle today. The sky was an endless white, and a weak sun made the high banks of snow shimmer like a maiden's silk name-day gown.

From the top of the Wall, he had seen the small formation approaching the Wall at some speed. There were no horses, as he had thought, and Edd stood, stunned, realising as the gate lifted that a pack of direwolves had approached the Wall, encircling two people trudging on foot, a small sled between them pulled by a giant black direwolf almost as large as a dray-horse. The slender figures on foot were shrouded in furs, skins out, fur turned inward for more heat, the wildling way, but carrying suspiciously fine weapons in pale, slender hands scarred and calloused, and the wind teased a few curls loose from under their hoods. He could just see a pale face with sombre black eyes staring out from a pile of furs in the sled, a young man's face, surrounded by freshly-cropped dark hair.

He was reminded inexplicably of Benjen Stark, of Jon: A long face, sombre features and a stern nose. He wasn't yet a man, Edd thought, certainly years younger than Jon… And Edd remembered, years ago, Sam bringing a wildling girl and her babe through the Wall with stories of a crippled boy, a giant, and a ferocious, beautiful girl who sang to them as they shared a fire in the abandoned Night Fort to chase the ghosts away…Jon's twin-sister.

"Are you wildlings?" he asked dubiously, looking at the two on their feet. He could only see their eyes; their faces were protected with furs.

The taller of the two pushed back her hood, revealing a white oval face that reminded him of statues of the Maiden in his village's small sept. Pale, and sorrowful and beautiful, carved from pure white stone. She had a shock of freckles across her nose and her cheeks, decorating her skin as the stars did the night-sky. Her eyes were breath-taking, a deep vivid blue that was almost violet, beautiful and sharp as daggers, ringed with thick, blunt lashes. Above them, thick dark brows hovered sternly. Short locks of her dark hair curled wildly around her temples where they had escaped a thick, messy braid tangled with curls the colour of treacle, wound around her head like a crown. She had a pretty nose, high cheekbones and beautiful plump lips like tight rosebuds about to burst into bloom, drawn into a grim line.

Those eyes were the most vibrant thing he had seen in years.

She was shockingly beautiful.

She looked so like Jon that he stared. She was even tall like him.

"Samwell Tarly," she said, in Jon's Northern accent. "We need to see Sam."

Edd gaped. She knew Sam's name? He glanced from her to the other girl - she had lowered her hood, revealing cropped curls, dark eyes and a face far less beautiful than the taller girl's, though still pretty in her way. She looked tired and gaunt - they both did, and she crept closer to the sled, where the young man gazed calmly at Edd.

"How do you know Sam's name?" he asked, bewildered; no wildling would ever have left Sam alive. The brothers of the Watch, those who honoured the Old Gods, believed Sam must have been favoured for swearing his Night's Watch vows before a heart-tree, for how else could the craven Samwell Tarly have killed a White Walker with only a shard of dragonglass?

But he had. Sam was no liar.

"He showed us the way through the Wall years ago," said the first girl. She looked older than the other, the one with the short hair; she looked so like Jon it was startling - and it was amusing to Edd to realise there was someone in the world prettier than Jon Snow. "This is Lady Meera, daughter of Lord Howland of House Reed, and Brandon, brother of Robb Stark, King in the North. And I am Alarra Snow." She added her name as an afterthought - only after introducing the true-born nobles as if announcing their appearance at court.

He remembered Sam telling them about a cripple - but where was the giant? And the skinny lad from the Neck who had been with them, sickly and pale? Edd knew, without asking: The storm had claimed them.

They were not lacking for direwolves; Sam had told Jon that two had been with the cripple and his sister. Now there was a huge pack of them, and he was aware his men were unnerved by them waiting, patiently, clustered around the gate, monstrous adults and huge, spindly-legged pups showing their lethal fangs as they yawned and yelped and played in the snow.

Alarra Snow…

Larra…

If he ever needed proof this young woman was Jon's sister, it was in the direwolves guarding her so fiercely.

"You're Jon's sister," muttered Edd, and his men shifted behind him. Everyone knew and respected Jon - the ones who had lived after the mutiny, of course; and even the ones who had surrendered grudgingly admired him. Those intense violet eyes lanced to his face, and Edd almost flinched. Where Jon was solemn and hid a sense of humour behind his profound sense of duty and loyalty, his eyes were always thoughtful, and usually kind. Hers were sharp like a Valyrian dagger and as dangerous as the direwolves circling them, filled with the kind of tension he remembered in the men before the wildlings' first attack on Castle Black, all that long time ago. Coiled with tension, like any of the direwolves surrounding them, waiting to attack their prey.

She had been beyond the Wall for years.

He could only imagine what she had survived.

"You were at the Fist of the First Men. You were at Hard Home with our brother," said a soft male voice; the young man in the sled spoke blandly, and he was staring at Edd - or, through Edd. His dark eyes were turned toward him but Edd didn't think the lad really saw him at all. "You've seen the Army of the Dead. You have seen the Night King… He is coming for us. For all of us. We must be ready."

A tiny frown had appeared between Alarra Snow's dark brows when Edd glanced at her, shocked. How did the lad know that? He didn't understand the look on Alarra's face, something like annoyance, almost distrust, as she gave the lad a sidelong look: But she lifted her vivid eyes to his and something like sorrow flickered in them - not pity. Respect. Edd had seen a lot, beyond the Wall: And so had she. He knew that, just from looking at her, just from the sight of her stood at the gate, wrapped in furs, alive. Jon smiled, laughed richly, on occasion - this girl, his twin-sister, looked like she hadn't smiled in a good long while, perhaps had even forgotten how to. She looked all the more beautiful because of it, even shrouded in furs, grubby from her journey.

A true Northern beauty, strong as steel, unyielding as a snowstorm, implacable as a glacier.

"Where is Sam? We need to speak with him - he is still steward to the Maester, isn't he?" Alarra pressed, her crisp Northern tones bordering impatient. Behind her, the great expanse of the North seemed to loom, barren and haunted.

"Maester Aemon…he died, and Jon sent Sam south to the Citadel to train as his replacement," Edd said, and Alarra Snow stared at him, something making her intense eyes spark like the embers of a violet fire.

"Maester Aemon?" she breathed, glancing briefly at the young man in the sled. Brandon Stark did not look back, but gazed blandly at the furs tucked over his legs. If Edd had thought Alarra Snow's face showed no emotion, she was a novice compared to the boy, his features still and detached, carved from marble. Alarra Snow frowned, and glanced up at Edd. "And what do you mean, Jon sent him south?"

She had a Northern accent, but she had been raised a High Lord's daughter, even a bastard one; she had a different accent than the smallfolk of the North, but then again, a different accent than her half-sister Sansa, educated by a septa and raised at court. Her words were crisp, though, as if she faintly remembered having her words minded. Polite, though: Courtesy went a long way.

"Jon… He reclaimed Winterfell, but he left me in charge of the Watch," Edd told her. She stared, as if his words were absurd.

"What do you mean?"

"Jon Snow was named the nine-hundred-and-ninety-eighth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, after Jeor Mormont was butchered during a mutiny beyond the Wall," said one of Edd's companions, a big burly man with an enviable salt-and-pepper beard. He was Northern, Edd vaguely remembered. Every Northman respected the Starks - and she was Ned Stark's blood, even if she didn't have his name. More than that, Edd's brother respected Jon.

Alarra Snow's eyelashes fluttered as her eyes widened, the only indication of her shock. Her pretty lips twitched toward something like a smile, but it radiated from her eyes, more than her mouth; they glittered with something joyous and warm - pride - and for a second the terrifying wolf-warrior melted away, and Edd saw her brother's smile in her eyes.

"Jon was voted Lord Commander?" she breathed, and then her brows drew together, her lips parting. Hesitantly, she asked, "How could he retake Winterfell? He was sworn to give his life to the Watch."

"He did," said the boy in the sled, before Edd could open his mouth. The lad did not look up from his furs, but Alarra Snow seemed to sway on her feet, and all around her, the direwolves started to fidget, agitated. The enormous black one pulling the sled went rigid, fur on end. The boy sighed, and finally lifted dark, ancient, empty eyes to his half-sister. "He killed the boy, Alarra. He let the man be born."

Edd stared at the boy, shaken. It was common knowledge at the Castle, what happened to Jon Snow - the mutiny; and the Red Woman using fire-magic to bring him back after they butchered him. But Jon did not speak of it - Edd didn't know if he had even told the beautiful red-haired sister who had appeared at Castle Black all those months ago, pale and desperate but fierce and proud. She'd been the finest thing anyone at the Castle had seen in years, perhaps longer. A great beauty, kissed by fire.

First one sister, now another. Jon had three, Edd knew. Jon had thought two of them dead: One stood before Edd now.

Brandon Stark turned to Edd. "There is much you must tell my sister about the King in the North. But we should not linger beyond the protection of the Wall…" His pointed chin tucked down, to the side, as if he was listening behind him for the sounds of the Night King's army groaning and snarling at their heels. Perhaps they were: The Watch could not afford to send men out to cut down the woods, though Mance Rayder's great fire had gone a long way in clearing the terrain immediately beyond the Wall. As long as the snows and the fog were not too heavy, they would see the armies of the dead coming… And then Edd had no clue what he'd do.

"What has Robb got to do with this?" Alarra asked, her dark brows drawing together, and Edd glanced at his brothers, suddenly uneasy. Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. King in the North… She had been beyond the Wall for years…

Did she not know?

The Red Wedding…how could she know? He remembered Grenn gently breaking the news to Jon with Maester Aemon, before that very first attack of wildlings from the south, led by Tormund Giantsbane, and Jon's redhead wildling girl… Stuck through with arrows, Jon had had to be told about the sacking of Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy's betrayal…his brothers' and sister's murders by his own brother… First that, and then the ginger wildling lass, shot through the heart, dying in Jon's arms… Jon had to think the gods had no love for him at all.

Turned out, perhaps, they…did.

The lad did not raise his eyes from his furs; Edd stood helplessly, remembering Jon's reaction to the news, dreaded having to deliver the news to his sister… And what about the younger brother Jon had lost on the battlefield outside Winterfell? He'd been too little, had been left at Winterfell, Jon had told them, his wild younger brother who had wept bitterly and lashed out at Jon in a rage when he went to say goodbye before journeying to the Wall…

There had been little hope of saving the boy from Ramsay Bolton's dungeon, but Jon had been determined to do it.

It was one of the many reasons men respected him, chose to follow him.

At least Edd could say Sansa Stark had escaped King's Landing. That was something, at least. He remembered Jon's reaction when she'd appeared in the yard, grubby and cold; Jon's heart, warmed by the Red Woman's fire, had stopped once again.

"Come on, let's get you inside," Edd sighed, glancing past the girls to the snows beyond. "You must be hungry."

"What about them?" one of his men asked, nodding at the direwolves, who were padding over the snows to form a guard around the slender women and the sled-bound boy.

"I'm not trying to stop them," Edd muttered, eyeing the direwolves warily. They were larger than any of the Watch's rugged ponies, lean from snowstorms, and he had seen Ghost fight too many times not to be wary of their strength and ferocity - it was no wonder the ancient Starks had used them in their sigil. Vicious, dangerous, hard-to-kill, monstrous wolves from legend, for implacable, dangerous hard-to-kill men from legend. Even in the Vale he had grown up with stories of the Starks and their direwolf sigil.

Winter is coming… From the Vale, born and bred, Edd had never thought he'd live by the Northmen's words. The Watch was bonded more strongly with Winterfell than any other House in the Seven Kingdoms, and it showed; he remembered Maester Aemon muttering that 'Starks are always right in the end…winter is coming…' He sometimes wondered what the Maester would have said about all this…and was glad, somehow, that he wasn't around to have to survive it. Would they?

As the last pup pelted along the tunnel, followed by a grumbling elder, the gate creaked and groaned, lowering, leaving the tunnel darkened, eerie, glowing with a soft blue light that reminded Edd all too clearly of the Night King's army. Alarra Snow turned to Edd, as the other girl mounted the sled, guiding Brandon Stark toward the castle.

"Lord Commander," she said quietly, with a stern, respectful bite, her brows knitting together as she gazed back down the tunnel toward the gate. "Anyone caught behind us fights for the Night King now."

He liked that she did not mince words, though it filled him with dread to hear them.

"How long do we have?" Edd asked, after sighing heavily. He had to have seen the Night King to believe his strength; perhaps that was why Jon had left him the Watch - because Edd had seen, and knew the truth of the danger they all faced.

"Not nearly long enough," Alarra told him. She had Jon's long legs, and though she limped, her gait was swift - she walked as if she was determined to not let anything get in her way, not even physical pain. Her hand was curled around the hilt of a precious sword, a great shining red stone set into the pommel, etched with something Edd couldn't quite see. Jon had never said House Stark had more than one Valyrian steel sword, the one his father wielded, named Ice: Jon had regretted his father's - his family's - sword had been lost in King's Landing when they beheaded his father. "Moon-turns, perhaps, if that. I would not wager against more than six. The dead do not tire."

"The Wall has stood for thousands of years," Edd reminded her, reminded himself. He slept infrequently, and badly, and woke choking on his terror, blue eyes glowing in the shadows of his chamber.

"Let's hope it doesn't fail us before we're ready to face the storm," Alarra muttered, her expression dubious as she lifted those violet eyes to the icy tunnel around them.

"You really have seen him." Those uncanny, almost wolf-like, dangerous blue eyes pinned Edd in place.

"We escaped him. Just," Alarra admitted, gazing ahead at the sled, surrounded by Night's Watch brothers and direwolves. She turned back to Edd, and something in her eyes had softened. Grief seemed to seep from her, like waves of heat from a fire. "The Watch has existed for thousands of years; but it cannot fight the Night King from the Wall."

"Where else would we fulfil our vows?" Edd frowned.

"Winterfell," Alarra said, after a moment, glancing down the tunnel again. "Lord Commander… All the living North must unite if they want to survive the Long Night - and we can only protect our most vulnerable from Winterfell."

She sounded like Sansa.

They had such profound faith in their home.

To them, Winterfell was not just a castle. It wasn't stones and towers, forges and glasshouses and libraries and a godswood. It was safety. It was strength. It was home.

They had fought to reclaim it - Jon, and Lady Sansa.

Fought with all they had, and less than they needed. And won.

Starks had not ruled the North for thousands of years by being soft. Jon had not survived this long by being soft. Starks were stubborn as aurochs and vicious as direwolves, and they fought together. Edd knew the value of Jon's loyalty: He had exchanged his family at Winterfell for his brothers at the Wall - and when those brothers betrayed him, he had taken on the mantel of protector - not just of his sister, but of the entire North, of the Free Folk he had let through the gate to protect them from true monsters, of the smallfolk who knew nothing of the world beyond the borders of their hamlets, of the lords who had sworn their swords to protecting the North for centuries under the Stark banner.

The Starks had reclaimed Winterfell, erasing their enemies' names from history, reminding Westeros that their great House had endured for so long for a reason, and that strength meant they were one of the few great Houses left in Westeros left to recover from the recent turmoil. The King in the North was allied with the Free Folk for the first time in thousands of years, and had asked them to man the abandoned fortresses along the Wall: The Northern lords had strengthened their bonds with the new King in the North they had named after he avenged the Red Wedding: A battle-bond had been forged with the Knights of the Vale - Lady Sansa was cousin to Lord Arryn through her murdered mother, but the knights respected Jon Snow for his stern, fair leadership and earnestness.

Together, Jon and Sansa had reclaimed the North. Together. They had buoyed each other, encouraged and strengthened by each other's nearness. They were family. And Jon Snow had always spoken of his father's influence, that Ned Stark had considered every man, woman and child in the North his personal responsibility to provide for, and protect.

They had lost their brother in taking Winterfell back, but thousands of other brothers had been saved, and as great as Edd knew Jon's grief would be over his brother's death, it would be nothing to the relief that he could fulfil the vows he had sworn in the weirwood grove beyond the Wall… I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men…

"Why Winterfell? There are other castles between there and the Wall - although none so big."

"Bran the Builder raised the Wall…but he also laid the foundations of Winterfell," Alarra told him earnestly. "The same magic that holds the Wall protects the ancient keep of Winterfell. If we want to survive, we must all unite there - and that includes the brothers of the Night's Watch. To leave you scattered along the Wall is a waste; we will need every able-bodied person we can get."

"Jon sent wildlings to man the Wall's outposts - he sent them to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea," Edd muttered. "It's closest to Hard Home; the Night King will likely march on the Wall there."

"Recall them - send ravens, today, now, before the snows hit again - they must head south to Winterfell, with anyone they can find," Alarra said plaintively.

"We must keep watch -"

"Everyone. Everyone must go to Winterfell," Alarra said urgently. "We will know, if they breach the Wall…we will know…" Her vivid eyes lingered on the sled.

"How?" Edd asked. The soft blue-white light at the end of the tunnel grew brighter as they approached - he could hear the clangs and shouts and echoes of the yard, the smithy, as they neared the Castle, the last of the direwolves disappearing into the brightness.

"You have seen things, Lord Commander, beyond the Wall. Giants, and worse." He couldn't help but like it when she called him Lord Commander.

"Aye."

"When I tell you that my brother is the last of the great greenseers, would you waste our time disbelieving me?"

"Greenseer? He…has visions?" Edd frowned, and realised the lad could only have known Edd was at Hard Home and the Fist of the First Men if he did have visions… Those who'd known about Hard Home were either far south of the Wall, or marching among the dead. Hadn't they all heard stories about those struck mad with visions of the future - or the past? Greenseers came from legend - but then, didn't giants belong there, too? Didn't he wish White Walkers had remained confined to stories of the long-distant past? He had fought and survived both.

He'd seen Jon raised from the dead by a woman who sang in a foreign tongue and saw visions in the fire. If Jon Snow's twin-sister was telling him that greensight was real, and that her brother had the gift, who was he to argue: He was going to believe her.

"He is the Three-Eyed Raven. Brandon sees all that ever was, and all that is," Alarra told him, with the same seriousness that Jon had always spoken about things he was truly passionate about, believed in wholly. "We must get to Winterfell: When the Wall is breached, Brandon will tell us. But we must be leagues away from here before then, with as many people as we can save. Otherwise they will only join the Night King's army, as all those lost at Hard Home did."

He remembered Tormund Giantsbane weeping as the Night King raised the dead on the ice-encrusted shores of Hard Home, the silence, the horror… If they'd only gotten there before, if they hadn't fought so hard against the wildlings that they'd facilitated the Night King's campaign without realising it…if only they could have known, if only they'd had time…

They entered the yard, and Edd gazed around. Half the courtyard had gone still, watching. Even with everything they had witnessed the last few months, it was not normal even for them for a pack of direwolves to pad their way through the snow into the training-yard, guarding a cripple, a lady from the Neck, and the twin-sister of the King in the North, their sworn brother. With her hood down, they could all see Alarra Snow's stark beauty. She looked so like Jon, even the way she wore her sword-belt, her curls teased by the wind, that the men stared.

First Sansa Stark, and now Alarra Snow.

Was there anyone in the Stark family who wasn't beautiful?

Edd sighed, eyeing the gate critically. He nodded to himself, making a decision.

"Your brother will tell us, if the Wall is breached?" Edd asked.

"Brandon will see it as it happens," Alarra told him grimly. He sighed heavily, and indicated some of his brothers with a nod of the head. They trudged over, mindful of the direwolves - even the smaller ones were the size of ponies, could tear a man's limbs with little effort. Ghost had fought when the wildlings attacked Castle Black; he had attacked when the mutineers turned on Jon's friends.

"Lord Commander?"

"Seal the tunnel," Edd commanded grimly. His brothers exchanged uneasy looks.

"There's no need," said Brandon Stark gently, and Edd glanced at him: Alarra frowned.

"Why?" Edd asked. He wasn't going to mince words, not about his duty to protect the North from what lay beyond.

"The Night King will not bring his assault on the Wall here at Castle Black," said the boy with the ancient voice. He was not looking at him; he gazed into the distance, his eyes glassy and sharp at the same time. Eerie, like a raven staring at him. "Not when there are so many more vulnerable places to choose from. Jon was right, sending the Free Folk to Eastwatch; but they'll die there, if they stay."

Edd stared at the boy, because he was barely more than a boy, even if his eyes seemed ancient. Ancient and cold and tired. Edd didn't know what they had survived beyond the Wall, only that Samwell had let them through a secret door in the Night Fort years ago, leaving Jon and anyone else who heard the story to believe that Jon's brothers and sister were, truly, dead. Because how could they have survived what was beyond? But they had. And they were here, now, warning Edd.

He'd wished many times that they'd reached Hard Home sooner. Facing that, what did it matter that he wore black, and they wore furs and chainmail of muscle-shells? They were alive. In that moment, there had been no wildlings and no Night's Watch, just the living, and the dead. If he'd had some warning, some way to know the fates that befell all those at Hard Home who could not be saved, if he had had some foresight, some way of getting there sooner…wouldn't he have acted, without thought?

Jon would have.

The unlikeliest survivors of the bitterest place in the world were on his doorstep, telling him they would die if they did not get south - the sad irony that the Wall was now Hard Home. Only, they had prior warning.

He summoned an officer over with a twitch of his fingers.

"Lord Commander?"

"Send a lad up to the perches: Everyone's to meet in the hall for nightfall."

"What about the watch?" another brother asked.

"Everyone, in the hall, before nightfall," Edd repeated. "In their thickest clothing, every one of them armed. Have the larders emptied into wagons, and as soon as they're full, send them on to Last Hearth with the young, trained lads." He watched as the men dispersed, and glanced at Alarra Snow. "Castle Black has been home to many of us for longer than we were ever with our families… It'll unnerve them to abandon it."

"There is no reason to stay here," Alarra sighed sadly, her breath pluming around her face like a veil as she gazed around the courtyard, her features grim, and so like Jon, Edd almost smiled. He wondered if she was as disappointed by the Night's Watch as Jon had been when he first arrived, his head full of stories of the glorious sacrifices made by the heroic Night's Watch… Word spread around the courtyard, and the armoury and stables, that a meeting had been called; all other work was to cease, to get the wagons loaded.

And word spread that Lady Alarra Snow, sister to their brother the King in the North, was among them. He was conscious of the fact that Alarra Snow was the most beautiful woman any of them had seen since Sansa Stark - maybe even including her, depending on preference - and Jon wasn't around this time. Jon's blood still ran black, for all he was King in the North now - that made Alarra Snow his sister as much as Jon's. Knowing his stubborn brothers as he did, Edd wondered if half the reason most of the men had gathered without complaint, waiting patiently as night fell in the hall, was to get a glimpse of her. Lady Sansa had been a sight for sore eyes, in her tired wool gown and vibrant hair: And Alarra, in her furs, with her rosebud lips and intensely violet eyes, was awing in her beauty, the candlelight making love to her ivory-white skin as she waited at the officer's table, patiently listening to Edd, and Brandon Stark, who murmured so softly people were reminded of soft-spoken, wise, ancient Maester Aemon… Maester Aemon had spoken little, and so quietly most had to strain to hear, but what he had said was always careful, and wise, and right: Brandon Stark, a century younger, was the same.

"We're headed south, lads," he announced, sighing heavily. "The army of the dead marches on the Wall; if it falls, the only place we can fight, and fight together to defeat them, is Winterfell. Jon's there. He's gathering armies from across the North; he has the Knights of the Vale; he has the wildlings. We're sending ravens tonight, everyone must abandon their posts at the Wall and retreat to Winterfell, with anyone they can find along the way." Agitated murmuring, but generally, the men agreed; they were superstitious, and believed honest men. Jon and Sam and Edd were honest men: They also believed the word of battle-hardened, mad fuckers like Tormund Giantsbane, the last man to run from anything, let alone a fight - and he had told them to flee as far south as south goes… Jon had told the Night's Watch that the Wall would fall, and the world would end; and they had to stop it. So, they would. Edd was just the man left in charge to make the decisions he thought Jon would. And Jon would tell him to get their brothers to Winterfell to join with the armies making a stand against the Night King.

"You've already started clearing out the larders. I want each of you to carry rations, and weapons," Edd said, "even if you've not been instructed how to wield them yet. You'll learn."

"Lord Commander?" A woman's soft, low voice, quiet and polite. Edd glanced at Lady Alarra. "Might I make a suggestion?"

"My lady?"

"Unless you've a cache of Valyrian steel in your armoury, your weapons are nigh on useless against the army of the dead," Lady Alarra said, and his men shifted uncomfortably. To be told they had to fight was one thing: To know they would lose, regardless of how fiercely they fought? That was another. But the lady wasn't finished: And the only thing stronger than fear was hope. "You have fletchers among you," Lady Alarra said, gazing out over his brothers, and a few of his brothers nodded, murmuring. She had the same stern Northern face as Jon - and a good many Northern faces stared back at her, listening to her, an educated lady, the daughter of their respected liege-lord. It didn't take long for his brothers to quiet: She had that same stern presence Jon did, regal and implacable - and it helped she was the most beautiful thing any of them would likely see before they died. She lanced those violet eyes to Edd. "Grant the fletchers room in the wagons; they are better served making arrows than marching with idle hands."

Simple, really. Why hadn't Edd thought of that? Jon had taken the only Valyrian steel sword south. They couldn't light their swords on fire - but they could unleash a torrent of flaming arrows to keep the dead at bay. Fire and dragonglass were all that stopped wights and White Walkers.

"Hear that, lads; keep your hands warm," Edd said, and the fletchers nodded. "Take some of the boys, too; teach them." He glanced at Larra. "Before he went south, Jon ordered us to start drilling daily with bows. Seems you think alike in spite of the distance between you."

"Experience is a brutal teacher," Lady Alarra said sorrowfully, and Edd nodded. "How much pitch do you have?"

"Almost a thousand barrels," said one of his brothers. "The Shadow Tower and Eastwatch each sent half their cache after the wildling attack on Castle Black, Stannis Baratheon left more behind, what with having the Red Woman alongside him."

"We'll need it," Lady Alarra said simply, and Edd's brother nodded, turning to murmur to the men around him.

"Right, lads… You know your orders. Put on all your warmest clothes. The first of the wagons should nearly be ready to go," Edd said, over the low murmur groaning through the hall. "Fletchers, go now and get your things. We can't wait for first light; we can't risk another snowstorm won't hit. The wagons leave as they're filled. Every man's to carry his rations, his bed-roll, a sword, a bow and quiver, a flint and torch. Stewards going through the library - pack up the scrolls, and you can keep reading as we go; I want three of you on the wagon, taking shifts to read and drive. And don't forget ravens." Edd sighed, but turned to Lady Alarra as he sat down heavily beside her, his brothers scraping back their benches and murmuring - but carried out orders. Under Jeor Mormont, under Jon, the Watch ran itself: Every man knew what was expected of him, and their leadership showed itself now, a small army mobilising at a moment's notice. "Sam'll murder me for leaving half the library, but what can you do?"

"Why only half the library?" Lady Alarra asked curiously.

"The lads've been digging out any manuscript or scroll referencing dragonglass or obsidian; Jon's orders. It's the only thing -"

"The only thing that can kill wights and White Walkers, besides Valyrian steel," Lady Alarra murmured, nodding to herself.

"S'pose you can't've made it this far without learning how to kill them yourself," Edd ventured, not wanting to ask about their experiences beyond the Wall - after all, not all of them had made the return journey. She gave a nod, agreeing, but not giving any information either. Instead, sat upright and queenly in her chair, she turned to Edd, and asked, "What is it you're so reluctant to tell me?"

Edd stared at her, and sighed heavily. He reached for a flagon and filled her cup.

"Here. Drink," he said heavily. "Best light a fire in your belly before I tell you."

Alarra Snow exchanged a glance with her companion: Lady Meera nodded, and followed after Brandon Stark without a word as several of Edd's brothers carried the lad to the Lord Commander's tower.

"It shouldn't be me, telling you all this," Edd sighed, agitated and uncomfortable. "It should be Jon."

"What happened?"

"What's the last thing you'd heard? About Winterfell - about - anything -?"

He told her.

She took the news stoically, her face betraying no emotion: But her eyes seemed to glow with purple fire, glinting in the candlelight, and a muscle in her jaw ticked, as if she was clenching her teeth so tightly, no scream of grief could ever pass.

But she didn't cry. She didn't scream, or rage. She simply closed her eyes, and let out a soft, broken gasp. She croaked a thank you, to Edd, for telling her.

But it shouldn't have been Edd telling her. It shouldn't even have been Jon.

It should have been Bran to tell her everything.

A.N.: They don't really go into the overhaul of Bran's personality, how he is "not really" Bran anymore, that Bran is still there, buried beneath thousands of years of memory. That must be incredibly frustrating to the people close to him, who still look at him and see Bran Stark, and expect him to react in the same ways Bran would have - or sharing the same interests as the rest of his siblings, like sharing the truth about Robb and Catelyn, and Rickon.